


Astronomy, Life, and Stayin' Alive

by DontAsaltSnails



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Astronomy, Astronomy saves lives, Bullying, Carl powers was a scumbag, Child Abuse, Disco, Fluff, I promise, I vented, Jim loves Sherlock, Kissing, Love, M/M, Making out under the stars, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of attempted suicide, Moriarty's childhood, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Sheriarty - Freeform, Stargazing, Straight up sheriarty, Suicidal Thoughts, That saves lives too, after the angst, jimlock, mentions of abuse, relationship, sherlock loves Jim, theyre adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontAsaltSnails/pseuds/DontAsaltSnails
Summary: It's the year of 1988. A boy stands alone on the edge of his home ready to jump.The radio plays in the back as memories flood him of his terrible life. Will he jump and just end it all, or will he continue staying alive? (Based originally on the concept that Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees, may hold a special place in his heart for multiple reasons.)





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This fic will be exactly 3 chapters long.
> 
> It is very much the angst and touchs on many sensitive subjects (some of which very sensitive for myself)
> 
>  
> 
> Please read with some mild discretion and know that it's ending won't end in sadness. Many promises to that<3
> 
> Special thanks to: @plaguedbynargles on here (one of my fav writers<3) who helped me by beta reading chapter 1! 
> 
> Also special thank you to my tumblr friend BloodMaelstrome who supported me in writing this even though I'm a difficult baby.
> 
> Writing this was a journey and a way down a path of future healing. I know I do horrible things to Jim but I promise I love him so much. He's just a muse I can relate to.. Easily. 
> 
> Thanks a bunch guys and enjoy the fic<3

February, 1988,  A small boy sits on his roof staring up at the stars in wonderment. Its a cold night in Ireland. So cold that the boy's cheeks were turning red from the blood rushing through them.

He lay there memorising astronomical patterns and the constellations. His brown eyes looked dark in the night and his black inky hair pooled out slightly onto his only seperation from the cold hard floor, a dusty old matress. It is the same matress he knew he'd be beaten for moving. However, for this beautiful sight before his eyes, he felt it was well worth the beating. The boy knew it would come sooner or later anyways. He didn't even blink as he took in the sights. This, for him, was the only reason left to live anymore. Life was so dark and it seemed to never end for this poor Irish boy.

Soft music played in the distance which soon cut into a ridiculous sounding DJ speaking about some of his favorites top 100 hits. Ah, yet another reason the boy would be beaten, he took the family radio and brought it up the flights of stairs, just so he could actually relax and stargaze. Was that too much to ask for a boy who was abused every single day of his life?

If it wasn't bad enough with the beatings from his drunkard of a father nightly, then he had dear old Carl Powers to touch him in places the boy never thought of or wanted to be felt only then to pound on him in the rest of the daylight periods. It was odd to the boy how the same hands that somehow wiggled and forced themselves inside of his most private of areas were the same that knocked his teeth out and bruised his already sore skin. The small frail boy loathed Carl Powers for what he had put him through day in and day out. His mind shuddering through the constant torment he went through muggings for money (which he didn't even have) and the embarrassment of what he he would do to him whenever he had the moment of privacy. Every day that monster would laugh at the trembling boy. Every day was worse than the next.

One day.. One day he'd make him pay. He'd make Carl Powers pay for turning him into some fag he could twist and bend into his toy. He would make him pay for making him weak.

Why couldn't those morons just realize how ordinary they were? He was obviously right in his corrections. Anyone with eyes could easily see that he was in fact, smarter than his teachers. Sometimes, even speaking back to the teachers had gotten the boy grabbed and hit. He didn't cry anymore from the punishments and constant tortures of his life. He closed his eyes; fighting not to, yet remembering every single detail of his most recent lashing. He released a breath which fogged out into the harsh evening air.

It was freezing on the roof. The boy had brought a blanket up to stay warm but it was much too thin. He hadn't thick enough clothes either. He took what little he could for the small chance of freedom he finally could muster for himself.

Perhaps he should end the pitiful life he has? He's tried it before. He jumped off the roof of this poor excuse of a home in all of its shambles, hoping to die and just end it. No no, Of that hadn't worked, he squeezed his fists tight, instead he had fallen and merely almost died. He hadn't even been taken to the hospital. He was only hit for failing at his own death. If he were taken to the hospital then his family wouldn't have enough money to eat. If he were taken to the hospital it would mean his father actually gave a shit about him. He closed his eyes again, thinking back to the light he saw when he had almost lost his life. If only it had worked.

A tear slipped as he stood from the stiff matress and cold tiles. This time will go better. This time he'll end himself for sure. Properly.

He couldn't handle those ordinary people anymore. He hated being different. Why couldn't they be like him? Why couldn't they be intelligent? Why did they want him  to be stupid like the rest of them? He hated being assaulted and not feeling safe in his own skin. Why couldn't they accept him? Why couldn't he be just left alone? Why couldn't he.. If he were so smart, why couldn't he make it end? He hated himself for being weak. "Let's go sissy gay boy," he hissed out in a thick Irish accent attempting to mimick the bastard Carl Power's bullying tone. "Just jump. Do the world a favor and die fucking faggot."

His legs trembled as he stood on that edge. He could easily jump off. He could easily die and do something right for just once in his pathetic life.

"Do it right, _boy_ ," he spoke in a  deeper accent mimicking what his father said once. "You took my wife from me for what? A fuck up of a life, that's all you are. You aren't even man enough to win a fight. Just die, boy. Next time you try to.. Actually do it. Kill yourself." More tears slipped as he remembered her. His dear mummy. She had loved him, she had been the only person who showed him any kindness, and she died protecting the boy from his abusive father. It wasn't his fault. It was his father's fault, that barbaric gorilla of a man. No, but that isn't how they see it. Not his father, nor his stupid younger brother. He knew his family blamed him for it. He knew it.

Why was he even born? What, was he only created to be kicked around his entire life? He never wanted to exist. He didn't ask to exist. How dare they? Parents are selfish creatures, they create little bastards like him only to hate them and wish them dead? Hah, caring for others makes you weak. That's why mother was dead. It was her fault. Hers. It wasn't his, he choked back a sob at that thought. The poor boy knew he was only looking for someone else to blame. His final rationalization now formed in his mind as it had many times before: His mother died because his father wanted to break his ribs. Why did he want to break his ribs? Because the boy had been robbed by that disgusting Powers. She moved to protect her son and.... He couldn't think about it anymore. The memory although years old was still fresh in his noisy clustered mind. He couldn't recall how many times he saw it while trying to sleep.

Her death was his own damned fault.

So, here he was, about to jump. The gears of his mind still turning as he tried to make up his mind. Then, he heard the radio as it pulled him out of his morbid thoughts. It was playing something. Something he found oddly pleasing for something oh so ordinary.  Ah, disco. That was music he had learned to associate with the idea of his mum like when she sang along off-key to the songs she adored. She was kind and loving, and enjoyed dancing and the arts. He always struggled to remember her. He wasn't sure what was a made up or the truth anymore.

The song played, the boy about to pop off. To die. He hadn't paid attention to the words until the chorus lines began again.

 

_And we're stayin' alive_  
_stayin' alive_  
_Ah ha ha ha_  
_stayin' alive_  
_stayin' alive_  
_Ah ha ha ha_  
_stayin' alive_

 

Mother would've wanted him to stay alive. She died to keep him alive. She died to protect him. Stupid woman! This song, he remembered, she used to listen to it. She wanted her first born to stay alive because she loved him. He teared up once more, hot salty tears streamed down his red cheeks.

Fine, only for now would he step away from that edge. Because deep down inside the thought of his mother protecting him graced his mind, and it gave him a warmth he would need to survive the night.

 


	2. Progression

_Life goin' nowhere. Somebody help me._   
_Somebody help me, yeah._   
_Life goin' nowhere. Somebody help me, yeah._   
_Stayin' alive_

 

 

If he had believed in such things, the young boy would have thought his mother played the song for him, from Heaven. As if she were watching over him right now worried that her son would try to kill himself after numerous failed attempts. He glanced up at the darkness above him. No, the vast void of space was up there, not his mother. She was in the ground, buried exactly six feet under in a wooden box in a secret and illegal area, he was sure. Rotting away like corpses do. He winced at the imagery, feeling ill from that specific line of thought.

He turned his attention back to the song. A lovely distraction to his always working and always much too loud mind. He accepted the new welcomed break from his perpetual suffering. He felt calm, his tears finally finding an end as he listened to the song in silence.

 

_Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk,_   
_I'm a woman's man: no time to talk_   
_Music loud and women warm,_   
_I've been kicked around since I was born_   
_And now it's all right. It's OK_   
_And you may look the other way_   
_We can try to understand_   
_The New York Times' effect on man_

 

James tried to imagine a good future for himself. He'll be successful. He'd have nobody to bother him, he'll rise to the top. Yes, he'll be powerful and strong and those ordinary fools will look to him for help. He could be the most powerful man in the world, and nobody would have to know. His smile became a grin as he felt new surges of excitement. Truthfully he had never thought of himself becoming an actual adult, but these new ideas certainly pleased him. They gave him a newfound hope.

 

_Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother,_   
_You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive._   
_Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin',_   
_And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive._   
_Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive._   
_Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive._

 

As the song drifted into looping the ending chrous this boy, James Moriarty, began to plot. He needed to stand up against the darkness himself. Although he wouldn't admit it, he was terrified of being alone. He wanted to be held and loved for being himself. He was tired of the harsh touches he had come to know. One day, perhaps someone would love him... No, no, no. Love was for the weak, of course. He wouldn't let anyone that close. Damn his mind, always thinking; always contradicting. He scoffed, he knew what he needed to do.

At that precise moment of clarity he began plotting the death of his bully, Carl Powers. He would wait a year before carrying out his plans to poison the bully. It would be a perfect execution. Everyone would believe Powers had only drowned, an absolutely brilliant plan. His future prediction truly was perfect except for the one factor he couldn't of guessed. The one boy that would be the only one smart enough to actually investigate it properly. The only person who'd be able to deduce it was in fact it was a murder and not just an accident.

The one detail, the Irish boy would have never suspected, another soul as different as he was. To be seen by a mind as brilliant as his own. An English boy, only a few months older than the small James. His name was Sherlock Holmes, and little Jim would learn that name well. James Moriarty's carefully planned, carefully created, little world where he planned to hide himself would flip upside down from this boy.

That boy would grow into a man and steal his heart. James hadn't known, that this would-be detective would have his own heart stolen, too. Moriarty had fought it. Him _gay_? Hah. Him in love? Are you kidding? James Moriarty wasn't weak enough to fall in love. He wasn't so ordinary, feelings like that didn't come for people like him. Except for the fact, that they did come for him. He would fall head over heels for this other being that was just like him. This person he hadn't even met yet.

Then, in the future he'd meet this Sherlock Holmes. He didn't know they would meet years later in person, at the same pool where he would have had his revenge to poison and drown Carl Powers come true. The place that he hadn't expected the awkward flutterings in his stomach to worsen upon seeing that face and the mop of curls above it. Nor had he been able to expect their first kiss slow, impracticed, and dumb. Nor did he realize that Sherlock Holmes would be the only living creature in his life to spark any sort of arousal from him, or how easy it was their first time they made love. James had expected it to feel like when Powers had touched him those many many years back but it didn't. It had felt right. It had felt good. He had tried sex before but it never felt quite right. It never was fully enjoyable. His aroual never sparked by the other person but only lost while in the middle of the pursuit of finishing. He never had that issue with Sherlock; that man started the heat and carried it through to James' head to his toes.

The biggest surprise Moriarty would find would be the darkness of his world finally getting some form of light. Even if still at times it seemed all too dim; it gave him hope. Something he rarely had previously in his lifetime. James would fight to live. It would be a terrible struggle of many dark nights, but he would make it through. Yes, he was bored. Yes, sometimes the darkness would eat him alive... But then someone would appear at the end of that dark corridor. Someone he could run towards even if he himself were confused and almost bitter to the feelings.

He would run to Sherlock Holmes his equal, his nemesis, his friend, his help, his love.

His everything.

 

_Life goin' nowhere. Somebody help me._   
_Somebody help me, yeah._   
_Life goin' nowhere._

 

_Somebody help me, yeah._   
_I'm stayin' alive._

 


	3. Healing Never Ends; Forgetting Never Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter. Thank you for reading up until now. I spent a long time pouring my heart and soul into this and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
>  
> 
> A bit sad, very feelsy, and fluffy<3

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-**-*-*-*-*-*-*

February, 2012

“James?”

The lack of reply other than the high-pitched falsettos of Stayin’ Alive singing quietly in the distance of the roof of 221B worried Sherlock. There were times, like this moment now, where Jim would vanish in the middle of the night. Of course, Sherlock shouldn’t of cared because he’s a ‘sociopath’ who 'doesn’t care’, but just the same as he worries for John, his best friend.. He’s worried for his boyfriend. Well, boyfriend wasn’t the proper word either, if he were quite honest. James Moriarty was the only person for him and that was that. What broke Sherlock’s thought was when he noticed his Moriarty so close to that edge. It was the third time this month…

“James, what are you doing up here?”

The slender Irishman was glancing up at the night sky. He was watching the stars, fascinated by the vastness, fascinated by the void. Even years later, James Moriarty couldn’t be seperated from that view. They, the burning orbs known as stars, were of pure beauty. The most pure idea of beauty he could ever lay his eyes on.  Burning so very bright yet not alive. Not alive. He easily noted the constellations, his eyes gleaming at the beautiful lights that seemed so close but were so very far from his touch. Almost like a love that just wasn’t meant to be. James’ mind worked mapping out every star mentally and recalling and storing away facts as usual. Arms soon wrapped themselves around the man’s waist, even this couldn’t break his concentration.

 "James, it’s freezing out here. Come inside.“

"Do y'know which constellation that is?” The Irish drawl spoke out quietly in a whisper.

“… You know I don’t,” his lover replied with an equally hushed tone.

“Canis Major, it symbolizes a giant dog.”

“Ah, yes.. RedBeard in astronomical porportions then,” Sherlock glanced at the man in his arms. He placed a soft kiss to his cheek before giving him a little squeeze.

“Canis Major contains Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky, it’s also known as the 'dog star’, ” Jim murmured his reply, lost in the night sky. He paused, “makes me think of you, Sherlock.”

Holmes gave a small sad smile. The detective  knew that James wasn’t okay. He knew on nights like these his boyfriend needed to be held and pulled away from the edge that he seemed to always stand so close to. Sherlock placed loving gentle kisses on the back of James’ shoulders and neck, even though they were covered by his usual sleep shirt. “James…” he started before stopping his own words with thought. Sherlock thought back to the first time he saw Jim after a nightmare. The normally pristine man was a complete and utter mess. His skin had been paler than ever and drenched in sweat, yet he was shivering madly.  There were messy strands of hair stuck to his face, and tears in his dark tired eyes, that broke Sherlock’s heart.  As always, Jim didn’t speak about it. He didn’t want to remember what he had dreamt of, what he had lived through. He would only take the moment to curl up more and into Sherlock’s warmth. However that face had scarred itself into his mind, oh, his Jim looked like death.

The detective found after time, the only thing he could possibly do correctly in those moments with Jim was to pull him close and just hold him. To cradle him as if he were a small child who needed to be protected from the monsters of the night. They never spoke about it. James never spoke of his past, and Sherlock knew better than to ask. One day, perhaps Jim would open up and share what horrible beasts frightened him when he was comfortable. Until then, Sherlock wouldn’t press the man but instead be there to cherish James in ways he never had been.

“Stop thinking.”

James had turned around in his lover’s arms. He pulled Sherlock down into a kiss, one of the many they had shared and would share under the blanket of stars that was known as the night sky. Once their lips connected into the sweet sparkling hot kiss, a shooting star shot across over the intwined men. Of course, if he had not been distracted, James would have given a nice lengthy explanation of how shooting stars are really meteors. If Sherlock were honest, he’d have to admit, he would have enjoyed the lecture as equally as he enjoyed the kiss. The warming sound of James Moriarty, genius consulting criminal, speaking so elated about astronomy was absolute perfection. That was truly Sherlock’s favorite thing to hear, even if he didn’t understand Jim’s specific interest in astronomy, he did understand and truly love Jim.

“Oh no, now we’ve snogged to this god awful song,” Sherlock teased attempting to make that beautiful smile come out. James made some sort of a mix between a snort and a whine, overall an oddly adorable combination coming from him.

“Way to ruin the moment, dork.” Sherlock raised a brow, “I’m the dork? You’re the one stargazing and listening to disco of all things. What’s next bellbottoms and roller skates?”

Oh, and there it was, the smile that could split heaven in two. Jim snickered softly, “oh yeah? Well, I think you should kiss me again, Mr.Holmes.” Sherlock laughed before giving into the criminal’s demands and ultimately his own.

“Stay with me,” Holmes smiled into the mumbled words against his lips. He gave a small nod and murmured his own reply, “of course. Always.” The two stayed like that, in each other’s arms. Both cold and yet so delightfully warm from their embrace. Every once in awhile one or the other would sneak small stolen kisses from the either.

To think, James mused, he had just thought of ending it all like he had those many many times before throughout his existence. His mother would have been proud of him. She would have loved Sherlock, he was sure. He almost gave up after so many hauntings, but that would have meant giving up what he loved most of all. This is what James Moriarty loved. These two things, that made James want to continue on with life. These two beautiful things that made the dullness and the boredom fade and brought wonder once more. The two beautiful marvelous things that made him want to stay alive, (besides, his surprising love of disco and his mum.)

Astronomy and Sherlock Holmes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments always welcome<3333
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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